by J. C. Cliff
He exudes such a domineering presence just by walking into a room, and the way he makes me feel safe and secure when he’s near, nothing can compare. I grab the flashlight beside my bed and click it on, wondering if he was too cramped in our little bed and slipped off to be in his own. I shine the light to my right to find an empty bed staring back at me.
Maybe he went to the bathroom? I flop back down on my back and decide to wait for him to return.
Why should I even care he’s gone? I scold myself, but I already know the answer. I’ve already become attached to him. I don’t see how I can go back home without including him in my life again, but I’m not sure how that can work out. It’ll be very tricky, to say the least.
My mind goes back over the busy day we had. It had flown by rather quickly, and surprisingly, Stryker had been incredibly professional the entire time. I don’t know what I thought he’d act like, but with the way he’s been all over me lately, I didn’t expect him to behave like an adult. I’m ashamed to say part of me missed his playful banter and being full of sexual innuendo, but our patient flow had been nonstop.
After several minutes go by, I begin to grow impatient, wondering why he’s taking so long, because as stupid as it is, I don’t think I can fall back asleep without him holding me. Slightly annoyed with myself, I let out a loud sigh then throw the thin sheet off my body with an irritated huff. I slip out of bed, resigning myself to go look for him.
I quietly pad my way through the old hallways of the old orphanage, figuring the bathroom is the first place to check. The bathroom here is like a high school locker room, and earlier, we had to divide the shower times between the young men and women. I say young, because most of the volunteers are still in college who are aspiring to be nurses, doctors, and dentists.
I push open the door to the shower room, stepping in to hear the sounds of running water pelting down against the concrete floor. Cheap overhead metal casings hang from the ceiling, and judging by the lack of light, only a few of those lights are turned on. Despite the subdued brightness, I can still make out everything in the barren room.
I strain my eyes as I follow the sound of splashing water, looking for its source. The second I spot movement, I wind up stumbling over my own feet, my steps faltering mid-stride just inside the doorway. But my eyes never leave the sight before me. Stryker, who’s bare-ass-naked, didn’t bother to close the shower’s curtain.
Does he think this is a men’s locker room? What the hell was he thinking? What if another woman were to walk in and see him like this?
An unexplainable surge of protective jealousy rips through me, and for reasons I cannot explain, I find myself silently shutting the door behind me. I know I should just stand guard outside the bathroom until he’s done, but obviously, I’m not thinking clearly. I’m totally spellbound by his body, my mouth agape as any and all rational thoughts telling me I should flee have gone up in smoke.
The way the water is sluicing over every dip and curve of his chiseled body has sucked the breath from my lungs. He looks like a warrior, a Roman soldier, as he stands directly underneath the water’s spray, seemingly immersed in his own world.
I watch in fascination as the water cascades off his rock hard shoulders and back, highlighting his bronzed skin as it shimmers against the dim lighting. He has tattoos that are too intricate to describe as they span across his shoulder blades then run down the length of his back. The only thing that registers is the fact his artwork has a patriotic theme, because let’s face it, I’d be a fool to waste these moments on ogling anything other than that muscled bare ass of his.
He turns sideways slightly, and as his head bends down, my gaze travels to those rock hard thighs, and it’s then I realize those aren’t the only things rock-hard below his waist. Instantly, I cover my mouth, suppressing an audible gasp as I force it back down into my lungs.
His strong fingers are wrapped around his length, the sinewy muscles in his back and triceps flexing as he squeezes and works himself in smooth, measured strokes. My mouth goes dry, and I almost choke on my withered tongue. God, but I had forgotten how well that man was hung.
His other hand is resting against the shower wall to hold his leaning weight as he gets himself off. I’m all caught up in my own rapt fascination as I squeeze my inner thighs together, liquid heat pooling within my sex with each smooth, languid stroke he gives himself. I can feel my arousal seeping into my panties as my nipples turn to steel.
The bunched muscles in his firm ass are tensing and flexing as he rolls his hips forward, and I realize that’s what he’d look like from the back if he were driving his hardness into me. He releases a deep, guttural groan from his lungs as his head dips back, his face now directly smothered in the stream of shower water.
Just the way he is fisting himself as he showcases his perfect male form is breathtaking, and God is he a beautiful sight. A very surreal sight in so many different ways. I never thought I’d see him again, let alone in this situation.
His upper torso and broad shoulders catch my eye, and they begin to expand and contract with exaggerated movements, and at that moment, I hear a feminine noise that echoes off the walls. I realize a little too late the loud gasp comes from me. Stryker must hear it too, because every muscle in his body goes rigid and then he stills. His hand slowly loosens from his swollen member, and my eyes grow big and round, fixated on that thick and needy cock.
I should turn around and run, I tell myself, but again, my feet have a mind of their own; they refuse to budge. I’m rooted to the concrete floor, and my heart is in my throat as he slowly turns all the way around. I swallow hard and know I’ll have to face the music head-on. I curse my traitorous legs. I’m not sure what I thought I was going to find when I came looking for him in the middle of the night, but this scenario was not it.
The second his eyes meet mine, something flashes across his face, and I can’t decide if it’s the initial shock of seeing me, or animalistic desire. An eerie stillness sweeps over the room. His eyes narrow then, and the only sound I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.
The sharp lines of his jaw flex in the strained silence of the room, save for the shower water pelting over his hard body. Fully facing me, he stands to his full height, and I can’t help but glance down, catching sight of his jutting erection as it points itself right at me. It’s been almost six years since I’ve seen his cock, let alone fully erect, and God, forgive me, I want him. All rationality and our fragmented past disappear from my thoughts, being replaced by sheer lust.
He makes a growling noise, and I snap my eyes back to his. Nothing but a dominating need to consume me emanates from his intense, penetrating glare. I’m in deep, deep trouble.
I know this when he steps away from the spray of the water and begins to saunter toward me at a painfully slow pace. He holds my gaze as if he has me in a trance, and if he were to break eye contact, the spell would vanish. Full-on anxiety slams into me at the last minute. My heart’s stuck in my throat. I can do nothing but stand here and watch his advancing form closing in on me.
“I didn’t know you were into voyeurism,” he rasps when he gets closer, and my pulse spirals out of control. “Are you getting yourself off watching me?” His eyes smolder, and I can’t inhale or exhale.
I have no words. My voice is lodged in my throat. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. All I can manage to do is slightly shake my head.
“No? Perhaps you could use a little help then.” He’s closing in on me like a lion, full of intent and hell-bent on caging me in. Finally, my feet find their courage, maybe out of self-preservation, who knows, but I manage to take two steps back. Cool brick meets my backside, and I press myself into it, thinking I can meld through the wall and disappear.
Feral hunger rolls off of him, right along with the puddles of water he leaves in his wake. He’s not even chilled with goose bumps from walking straight out of the cool water. His breathing is heavy, labored, and full of carnal need as he closes the dis
tance with a confident swagger, totally unembarrassed about his nakedness and unconcerned about anything else around him. All he sees is me.
He stops mere inches from me. We’re eye-to-eye, toe-to-toe, as droplets of water trickle off the ends of his wet hair and run down in small rivulets over his stark jawline. I bite at my lower lip, kneading the flesh between my teeth as apprehension settles low in my gut. Too nervous to look him in the eyes anymore, my gaze hones in on the inked design on his chest. It’s an eagle with its wings spread across his broad chest. It’s full of color, and my hands clench, because I want to trace my fingers over the design.
Stryker disengages my lip with his thumb then lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. My heart thumps even harder, because he then cages me in by leaning his forearms against the wall on either side of my head. Somehow, he manages to not touch me, but I can sure as hell feel the raw heat emitting off his body.
My stomach swirls with a mass of butterflies, and in turn, those winged suckers have me feeling woozy, or maybe it’s the fact I haven’t been able to draw in any air. He then presses his wet chest against my dry shirt, the weight of his body compressing my breasts in a delicious way. Our hearts beat frantically against one another as his lips almost make contact with mine. He’s not going to close the distance.
“What’ll it be, Val?” he rasps in challenge, his eyes full of intent. I’m all jumbled up on the inside, and God help me, help my heart, because I can’t ward him off any longer. “You ready to be under me yet?” He then nips at my bottom lip. I whimper in a feeble attempt to answer him, but can’t. What do I want?
“You want more?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer as he bends at the knees, his hips thrusting forward, pressing his erection right between my thighs. Oh, for all that is holy, I can’t resist him or his body. His moves… they are nothing short of deadly. My throat is tight, and I find I still can’t answer him, and when I don’t, he whispers over my lips, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Lightning fast, his fingers slip between my legs and underneath the edge of my panties. His eyes are hooded but remain locked on mine as his fingertips slip between my overheated skin and the elastic edge of my underwear. His knuckles skim along my lower belly and I stifle a whimper.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, but his question doesn’t mean anything, because he doesn’t stop. He has no intention of stopping. His deft and calloused fingers inch toward my sex. Each soft and delicate downward stroke has brought him to the top of my mound. The challenge is there in his eyes, daring me to put an end to his advances. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart? Perhaps you need a little more coaxing.”
His middle finger slips past my clit then separates my drenched folds. A fire sweeps through my pussy as he slips through the wetness with ease, pushing his finger all the way in, bottoming out at his knuckle. I gasp aloud, and at the quick intake of air, he knows my answer. His nostrils flare with need. “Do you think of me when you get yourself off, Val?”
Oh, God, he’s going to be the death of me. His lips are full, wet, sensual, and just begging to be kissed. “Would you slide your vibrator inside your wet pussy like this,” he rasps, as he adds a second finger, thrusting deep inside me, “fast and hard?”
His tongue slips out to lick over my bottom lip, my heart skipping another beat as my hands try to find a place on his body to ground myself. Who am I kidding? There is nowhere I can touch that gives me any stability. Everything about him unravels me in ways I can’t explain.
"Or would you go soft and slow like this," he whispers affectionately, just before his mouth skims over mine ever so softly, and in such a compassionate and loving way it makes me want to weep. He’s holding himself back, I know he is, because even though his kiss is barely there and tender, his entire body is trembling with self-restraint. Even his fingers are shaking deep inside me as he carefully curves his them inward to stroke against my g-spot.
My eyes flutter closed, the sensations too much. A sinful commotion of chaos and disorder demolish all sane thoughts. His seduction techniques have shattered the last of my resolve. I don’t want him; I need him.
His fingers effortlessly slide through my wetness with painstakingly slow and tortuous strokes. I thrust my hips forward, growing more frantic by the second, needing more. My fingers glide over the dusting of wet hair on his watery chest, skimming over his rock-hard pecs. Even though I’m sandwiched between two brick walls, I grow weak in the knees, needing to find something to hold onto. My hands slip over his shoulders as I dig my nails into his traps, the strong muscles flexing as he continues to torment me in a slow and measured rhythm.
How did I think I could stay grounded and resist him by touching him? I almost laugh at my own stupidity, because touching Stryker does anything but center me. His thumb then brushes over my clit, and I come undone, my head spins, and I go all tingly inside.
“People… Stryker,” I manage the fragmented sentence between his affectionate kisses. “Anyone can—”
He presses his lips against the corner of my mouth, and finds humor in my panic, because I can feel the curve of his smile against my lips. “I think the possibility of us getting caught is part of the thrill, no?”
I’m in over my head here, and I’m too turned on to be pissed off. He still knows me. After all this time, he still knows how to turn me on with just a simple look or a few words. He’d cursed me for all men so long ago, including my own husband. The stresses of confronting him, hating him, and loving him all at the same time have reached a new peak. What’s bursting from me now is all carnal need, but I’ve never been more scared of the fallout.
CHAPTER 28
~Valerie ~
Before I have the opportunity to linger on my panic-stricken fear, his tongue plunges into the depths of my mouth. He thrusts forward fast and deep, tasting me in a way one could only dream of being claimed by a man. The passion rolling off him is overwhelming, yet I want to soak it all in and savor every bit of it.
I respond to his every move, kissing him back with a fervor I forgot I had, chasing after each lick, stroke, and dip, desperate to keep our tongues tangled, afraid it’ll all end too soon. My enthusiasm turns him on even more, his breathing turning hot and ragged. His searing kiss is almost maniacal, and he rewards my reaction to him by thrusting his fingers upward, filling me until his knuckles stop him. I feel full and stretched, and still, it’s not enough. My body begins to overheat, making me wild and frantic as I climb toward a climax.
He’s crazed with lust, and totally out of control. My core muscles clench helplessly around his fingers as he pumps in and out of my slick pussy, demanding my release. He seems to be everywhere all at once, all over my body, devouring me, consuming me. His thumb rubs against my clit with firm pressure, and I let out a loud moan. My spine tingles with the start of an orgasm that ultimately makes my knees collapse.
He follows my body as I slink to the concrete floor, his mouth and fingers not missing a beat the entire way down. All I can do is squeeze and dig my nails into his broad shoulders. “Stryker,” I gasp between passionate, open-mouthed kisses.
He pulls back, his lips swollen and wet, his hazel eyes swirling molten lava as he pants over my mouth in shallow, ragged breaths. His fingers slowly pull out of me, my inner walls clenching in objection, sucking at his fingers as my muscles fight in vain to hold him inside me.
A low, deep groan escapes past his lips as his fingers finally abandon my sex. “I can’t wait until your body sucks in my dick like that, but right now, I need my tongue in your pussy.” His heated expression turns into a knowing smirk as he silently grasps the outer edges of my panties and peels them off in one smooth move. He then positions his muscular body over mine, his erection dragging between my thighs. My heartbeat thunders through me, and my excitement has me unable to feel the hard concrete floor beneath me.
His upper lip twitches just before he dips his head down to lick and nip his way upward, along the length of my neck. The heat of his t
ongue sends scattered shivers over my body. His husky voice seeps into my soul, as he whispers in my ear, “Would you like that? My tongue deep in your pussy?”
Oh no, he’s going to make me beg for this, isn’t he?
I have no shame as I touch the stubbly whiskers along his hard jawline. “I do,” I whisper, “but you already knew that.” I know for certain I want more than just his tongue. It won’t be enough to assuage this raging fire within me. “But since we’re both naked, and you’re right here on top of me, I think I’d like your cock deep inside my pussy instead.”
His jaw muscles flex against my palm and he briefly closes his eyes. It’s like he’s at war with himself, and it leaves me confused. “I’ve so wanted to hear those words, but you’re not ready for me yet,” he says in a low, calm timbre. I don’t know what that means, and I’m not sure I want to. His face backs away, my hand still suspended in the place he once was, leaving me feeling empty.
Without moving his eyes from mine, his hands grip me on my inner thighs as he slowly pushes my legs apart. Stryker runs his tongue along his bottom lip, leaving a glistening sheen behind, and I want his lips back on mine. Then he flicks his gaze downward, looking upon my exposed sex with raw hunger. His fingers dig into the sides of my legs, as if he can hardly contain himself.
“Stryker…” I whimper out his name, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s too fixated on his task as he pulls me toward his mouth, the cool air of his breath rushing over my wet pussy. His arm muscles flex as he leans forward, spreading my legs farther out to the sides, making room for his broad shoulders.
I’m panting like a bitch in heat as he keeps me waiting in anticipation. His mouth only an inch away from my sex. He knows he’s affecting me, because when his eyes jump to mine, they’re dilated, full of promise. My pulse pounds in my ears. I feel so out of my element, out of control as his hot breath fans over my parted opening
